what I am and what they're making me
by tamzinrose
Summary: Puck's the one in the dumpster this time. Not as AU as it sounds. Eventual Puckurt
1. a sky that looks like heaven

They corner him in the parking lot. Everyone else has gone home already. They pin him down and gag him, strip him of everything except his boxers, tie his legs together and his arms behind his back and they blindfold him before they chuck him in the dumpster and slam the lid closed. He can hear them laughing and jeering as they walk away, their voices fading.

Puck doesn't panic at first. They left his phone and his car keys. He thinks he can just wriggle a bit until he can get his hands free and then he'll be able to escape.

Except he can't get his hands free. He's rubbing his wrists raw and they feel slippery with what he assumes is blood, but he can't give up because he has to get free. It's Friday. No one's going to find him. No one's even going to know he's missing. He can't be trapped in here for the whole weekend.

Panic kicks in hard. He's choking and panting, hyperventilating. He thinks of Kurt Hummel, all the fucking times Puck was responsible for a dumpster dive. They never took it this far with Kurt. They never trapped Kurt and abandoned him.

Fuck. This isn't funny. This really... He can't breathe. He can't breathe and he's cold and it stinks in here and it's making his stomach roll ominously.

But he can't throw up, because they gagged him, and he could choke and holy fucking shit he really could die in here and no one would know. Oh god, oh god, oh god. This is _not_ the way Noah Puckerman wants to go.

He sings songs in his head, tries to keep himself as calm as he can. He has no way of knowing how much time has passed, how long he's been in here and how much longer he has to stay. He doesn't know what's going to happen on Monday morning, but he really fucking hopes and prays that someone finds him, that he's still alive by then.

He tries to convince himself that he's being ridiculous. He can go without food fine. He feels nauseous enough in here with the smell so he doesn't want to think about food. Hopefully it'll mean he doesn't have anything to throw up, and he can cross that _Death by Vomit_ worry off his list. Maybe he'll be a little dehydrated by Monday morning, but it's not a big deal. He'll just drink a lot of water and he'll be absolutely fine. This is not a big deal.

He holds it until he thinks his bladder's going to burst. The smell of piss is nothing compared to the sense of shame.

He thinks he manages to sleep a little. It feels like he's in there forever. Time is passing ridiculously slowly. He's constantly on the verge of a panic attack. He hates how fucking vulnerable he feels, how trapped he is. The space is too small and he needs to get the fuck _out_ now.

Eventually, he hears cars outside, other kids. He thrashes in the dumpster, kicks and slams at the metal sides as best as he can and tries to holler but his throat is dry and he's muffled by the gag anyway. He's flailing frantically when he hears the creak of the lid being lifted. He's pretty sure he's crying and he wants to be ashamed but he really doesn't have any energy to spare for that right now. He'll work on his dignity later.

"Puck?" A small voice says, sounding shocked and almost frightened. It's Kurt. "Hey!" He shouts, his voice fainter, farther away.

_No no no no no no no_! He can't leave! He can't just leave him here! Puck knows he's been an asshole to the kid, but please, _please_ _don't let him leave me here_!

"Puck, I'm back. Finn's here. He's going to lift you out, okay? I knew I couldn't do it myself so I had to get help but I'm back now." Kurt sounds concerned.

Puck's shivering and his teeth are chattering, maybe from cold, and his chest's heaving. He feels hands on his shoulders and he flinches.

"Just me." Finn says. "I have to get you out of here. Just...hang on a minute, dude."

He's lifted out, gently, then carried and lowered somewhere soft. It's warm.

Finn keeps a hand on his shoulder. The touch feels like it's grounding him. His heart is still pounding hard. The fucking endless freak out still isn't over then. They take off the gag first and then the blindfold and he stares up at them with wild eyes. The world is ridiculously bright.

"You're in my car." Kurt tells him. "We're going to go to my house. We need to untie you and then we'll go. Do you understand?"

He nods slowly. His head feels heavy. He has pins and needles in his feet. Kurt's being careful with his wrists but they still hurt, a lot. Kurt keeps saying sorry. Puck thinks he might be crying too.

Kurt moves to the driver's seat and starts the car. Finn drapes his jacket around Puck and pretty much cuddles him the whole way there. Puck thinks he should mind but he doesn't. He wants to be able to catch his breath and stop shaking and have his heart stop pounding so fucking fast.

Finn carries Puck to the house, lays him down on the couch. He looks helpless.

Kurt brings him a bottle of water, cool from the fridge. He holds it for Puck to drink, tells him to go slow and he does. The tight feeling eases from his chest. When he's done drinking, Kurt reaches out to take his hands and he does it tentatively, telegraphing his intentions clearly, like Puck's a wild animal he's trying not to startle.

"Oh Puck." He says softly, sadly. His wrists are a raw, bloody mess. The blood is mostly dried. Kurt cleans them up almost tenderly. He frowns over at Finn, who blinks dumbly and then sits down the other side of Puck on the couch.

"Man, I'm so sorry Puck. I didn't know. I should've known." Finn's supposed to be angry with him still but he just sounds _sad_. His puppy dog eyes look big and watery. It's a slight improvement on the hurt betrayal he's been carrying around, the confused glaring Puck's quickly become used to.

Puck drinks more water and Kurt wraps him in blankets and makes peanut butter sandwiches. Kurt and Finn have to coax Puck into eating. They're really, _really_ worried. Kurt sits too close to him, practically nestled into his side, but Puck doesn't complain, doesn't even seem to notice.

Finn squeezes Puck's shoulder, gives him a slight shake. "Talk to me. Please."

He has nothing to say. Most of it he can't explain. Most of it they can't understand. Kurt knows the smell and the way it makes you feel sick, and he knows the humiliation in some ways. But Puck is used to being big and powerful and intimidating, and they made him feel _small_.

"I'd offer you clothes except I don't think I have anything to fit you, and besides it's all a little too _fabulous_ for your tastes. Although I don't suppose my dad would mind if I borrowed something of his..." Kurt's tone sounds too forced to be cheerful. "So would you like to shower?"

Puck nods, relieved. The silence had been getting tense, awkward.

Kurt smiles brightly at him in response. "Follow me." He leads the way to the bathroom, points out the fluffy guest towels, sets out a carefully folded shirt and a pair of jeans he doesn't think he's ever seen his dad wear, then tells Puck to use whatever products he wants and to take as long as he needs.

Except Finn ends up barging down the bathroom door. Apparently, Puck needs longer than they're comfortable with giving him and their worry spikes because they're picturing scenarios in their heads, none of which are good. And so Finn breaks down the door to find Puck scrubbing himself with a nailbrush. The water is practically scalding, the air thick with steam. Puck's made himself bleed in places. His skin looks red and sore.

"Puck, stop now. Stop it. Enough, okay?" Finn walks into the shower with him and knocks the nailbrush out of his hands before wrapping him in the fluffy guest towel and leading him out of the shower. He turns the water off then waits with his back turned while Puck puts on the borrowed clothes.

They go to Kurt's room. Puck gets guided to the bed. He sits down and then he gets resistant, because if he lies down he'll fall asleep and he really doesn't want to sleep right now. He thinks probably there'll be nightmares, but mostly he's felt too weak for too long and he can't bear to make himself vulnerable again by sleeping in front of people, even the people who are taking care of him.

Kurt starts singing what Puck strongly suspects is a lullaby.

"Don't." He begs, his voice hoarse and pitiful.

"Tell me." Kurt says, simply, like it's that easy.

He shakes his head quickly.

"We're not gonna leave you here, dude. Don't worry." Finn reassures him.

"It's not that, is it? Do you think you'll have bad dreams?"

Puck feels pathetic admitting it, like a fucking child, so he shuts his eyes when he nods, so he doesn't have to see the way they're looking at him, judging him. There's some shuffling and he hears the door open and close, then the bed shifts like someone's sat down with him.

"You're my best friend, man." Finn tells him, earnestly. It makes him want to cry.

"No." He whispers. "Not anymore."

"Oh." Finn says, surprised and kinda hurt. "Really? But... I forgive you, Puck. I don't want to be mad anymore. Can we be friends again? Please."

He opens his eyes to see Finn's faltering smile. He holds his arms out and Puck nods, leans into the hug. Finn holds on tightly when he tries to pull away, starts rubbing his back and rocking him. Puck's breath hitches on a sob he chokes down.

The door opens again and Kurt clears his throat, polite and nervous. "I called my dad."

Puck and Finn separate to stare at him, alarmed.

"No, no, I didn't actually _tell_ him anything. I just said that Puck wasn't feeling well and I brought him here. He said you could stay, for as long as you want . And he called in sick for me." Then he hesitates. "I think maybe... I think we should call the police."

"No." Puck says, firmly. "And don't fucking tell anyone." Except he was carried out of the dumpster and into Kurt's car, on a Monday morning. There's bound to have been witnesses. It will be gossip. He can crush those rumours. He just needs to be big and intimidating enough. He feels fucking _angry_.

"But Puck, what they did to you... that goes beyond high school high jinks."

"It won't happen again." Puck snarls.

Finn holds his hand out in a calming gesture. "Dude..."

Kurt tilts his head, curious. "Why did it happen this time?"

"None of your fucking business!" Puck yells, leaping to his feet and bolting for the door.


	2. A Very Brief Interlude

Kurt blinks. "Well. That was...abrupt."

Finn chuckles darkly. "That was Puck. He needs some time to cool off."

"One of us should go after him."

"Why?" Finn asks, incredulous.

"For one thing, he isn't wearing shoes. I'll go and talk to him."

"No, no, I should go. I'm his best friend."

Kurt's already on his way out, following Puck. "It's my house and he's my guest. I'm going." He tells Finn, over his shoulder.


	3. we all had our minds made up

"You're not wearing any shoes."

Puck's response is limited to the shrug of one shoulder and a noncommittal grunt. He doesn't turn around to look at Kurt.

"Come back inside. I won't ask about it again. I promise. I won't make you talk."

"Like _you_ could _make_ me do anything." Puck sneers.

Kurt smiles indulgently. "Very true. Nevertheless, I promise I'll be on my best behaviour." He waits for a long moment, but Puck stays quiet, reluctant and hesitating. "Fine. At least let me drive you home." He can see the moment Puck gives in by the slump of his shoulders. It looks too much like defeat.

"Okay. Fine. But I pick the music."

"That seems fair. Shall we go then?"

They walk back to the car in silence and Kurt unlocks the doors, opens the driver's side to get in. Puck makes no move to follow him, so he stops. "Are you going to get in, or would you prefer to cling to the roof rack?"

Puck's a particular shade of pale; slightly grey, sickly looking. "I think I'm gonna throw up." He mutters, without making eye contact. He's awkward again, ashamed.

"Would you like some water?" Kurt asks him. He's keeping his tone carefully neutral, trying not to embarrass Puck further.

Puck hunches, doubled over. Kurt approaches slowly, uncertain, until he's close enough to rub gentle circles on Puck's back. Puck retches and heaves and makes other painful sounding noises. He's shaking and his eyes are watering. He can't stop and it hurts and nothing's coming up but it won't stop.

"Here." Finn says, joining them to hold an open bottle of water to his lips.

Puck sips slowly, trying to convince his own body to settle. He wipes his mouth then rubs at his watery eyes. He feels a little better. Tired. Fucking tired. He sways, Finn moving forward to steady him. He leans back against him gratefully.

"Please come inside Puck. Just for a little while. I'll drive you home later, if that's what you want."

"You need sleep, dude."

He has his eyes closed. They're just voices. "Okay." He hears himself say, then he's walking, or they're walking and Finn's got most of his weight while he stumbles along with them. "Couch." He insists.

Kurt fluffs a pillow and tucks a blanket round him. Puck's pretty much asleep when his hand shoots out and wraps around Kurt's wrist as he's turning away. "Stay." He mumbles.

Kurt looks at Finn for assistance, who shrugs, just as clueless. "Okay." He sits down with his back to the sofa and his legs crossed, his arm stretched behind him because Puck won't let go and it feels wrong to make him.

Puck's still sleeping when Kurt's dad gets home from work. Burt is bemused by the boy on the sofa holding his son's hand in his sleep. He knows better than to ask. If Kurt wants him to know, he'll tell him. Instead, he offers Finn a ride home, his polite suggestion that it's time for him to leave.

Puck jolts awake at the sound of the door closing when Burt Hummel gets back. He walks in to find the Mohawk kid freaking out, thrashing around like he's trying to get free. "Kurt." He calls, sharply. The Mohawk kid needs space, not Kurt hovering like that. "Come here."

"Dad-"

"Come here Kurt. Give him a minute. Kid just needs a minute." He's using his _Father Knows Best_ voice. Kurt doesn't argue, even though he clearly wants to.

Sure enough, the frantic movements slow and eventually stop, until the kid's just sitting there with his chest heaving and his fists clenched.

"So, you're Puck."

He looks up, startled, still reeling from whatever that shit was. "Uh. Yes."

"Are you staying for dinner? I want pizza but Kurt wants Chinese food. What do you think?" He waits for a long moment.

Puck appears thrown by the way Burt's asking his opinion like it actually matters. No one does that. No one cares what Puck thinks, about anything, ever.

While Burt's watching him, waiting for an answer, Kurt moves to stand behind his dad, his eyes lit up with mischief as he mouths _Chinese_ until Puck gets it and smiles back at him. "My vote's for Chinese."

Burt rolls his eyes. "Of course it is. It's a conspiracy in my own damn house." He heads to the kitchen to find the menu, still grumbling to himself.

"Thank you." Kurt says, pleased.

"No problem."

"Are you hungry?"

Puck pauses to consider. "Yeah, I think so."

"Good. I got the menu." They spend a while debating before Burt calls up to order. It all feels far more domestic than Puck's house, more like a home and a family. When the food arrives, they sit at the table to eat. Puck loads his plate and Kurt approves, then goes back to teasingly bickering with his dad.

Afterwards, Kurt's clearing the table, stacking the leftovers in the fridge and loading the plates in the dishwasher. It leaves Burt and Puck alone together at the table.

"Are you staying the night?" Burt asks, casually.

"Is that... I mean, would that be a problem?"

"It'd be fine. As long as you don't mind sleeping on the couch..."

Puck slept on that couch fine earlier. "No, I don't mind."

"Mind if I ask what happened?"

Kurt freezes. "Dad." He says, a warning tone.

"It's okay. I got tied up and left in the dumpster all weekend."

Burt tries not to show how horrified he feels, because the kid clearly wants to shrug this off as no big deal. "By who?"

"Some of the guys from the team."

"Why would they do that?"

"They want to make me quit the team."

"Is it working?" Kurt asks, wryly.

Puck shrugs. He wasn't sure he wanted to be on the team anymore anyway, after that last game, and since then they've made it clear that they don't want him to be there either. "I don't want them to think they've won. Then they'll think they can get away with shit like this. Sorry for my language."

"It's fine Puck. It is shit, what they did. But I have the feeling there's a little more to it than that."

Puck shakes his head quickly. "The guys are assholes. They don't need a reason."

Burt raises an eyebrow. "I thought you were one of them. You're on the team, aren't you? Basketball and football, sports star, big tough guy..."

"Sure, but I... I'm in glee too."

"And _that's_ what this is about? They left you tied up in a dumpster for three days because you can sing and dance."

"He plays guitar too." Kurt interrupts.

"You any good?"

Puck mumbles something noncommittal.

"Yes, he's good." Kurt says firmly.

Burt is still convinced that this kid is bad news and trouble and a whole bunch of other words that means he's not happy about this. But Kurt's fighting his corner and it's obvious there's something more going on with the kid than he's willing to tell them. And Burt doesn't like it, but he's going to give Puck a chance. He hopes he won't be disappointed.


	4. Acting Awful Tough Lately

After just two hours at school on Tuesday, Puck has had enough. More than enough. Far too fucking much. Everyone keeps staring at him and whispering, sometimes openly gossiping. His locker says **Fag **in red spray paint.

Finn's eyes widen at that and he recruits Rachel's help in cleaning it off impressively quickly.

Puck gets slushied twice before he gives up on staying clean, figuring it's easier to spend the day sticky. Easier, and more humiliating. He glowers and postures and threatens, but apparently, he's just not as intimidating anymore.

By the time glee practice rolls around, he's fuming. He arrives slightly early and he's pacing the room with his fists clenched, because he's so fucking _angry_ and he can't stay still. He wants to punch something, so he hits the wall and his knuckles throb but he barely fucking feels it and the rage is still _right there_. He starts hurling chairs around the room, yelling wordless noise of primal fucking _anger_.

Puck is completely oblivious to the audience cowering and gasping in the doorway until he runs out of chairs to throw and whirls around to see Artie wheeling himself closer.

"Unless you'd like to throw me too, I think you're done Puck." He says, voice quiet and serious.

Puck's chest is heaving and his hands, when he runs them over his strip of hair, are shaking. He nods and closes his eyes until his breathing steadies. Artie waits by him and no one else moves. They're fucking scared of him. _They're_ scared of him.

Artie reaches up to squeeze his elbow, to get Puck's attention. "Let's get some fresh air for a minute, okay?" He doesn't even complain when Puck pushes his wheelchair. The others move to the sides to let them pass.

Once outside, all that anger is gone and Puck is left feeling empty. His hand is starting to swell.

"Here." Artie hands him a soda from a nearby vending machine. "For your hand."

They sit together in silence for a moment. Puck holds the cold soda can against his hand. "Sorry, I guess." He says, eventually.

"You've had a rough day."

Puck glances over at Artie. "Why weren't you scared? Everyone else was."

Artie shrugs. "I probably wouldn't have felt it anyway." He waits for Puck to laugh, then sighs when he doesn't. "That was a joke. You weren't going to hurt anyone, especially not me."

"No?" Puck isn't so sure.

"No. You're not that asshole anymore, Puck. I trust you. You could try having a little faith in yourself." He pauses, hoping that will sink in. "I think the others will have got the room back in order by now. Are you coming in?"

Puck hesitates. "They're scared of me."

Artie smiles at him. "I'm not. Come on. Use what you're feeling in your singing, or something equally earnest and Mr Schu-esque."

"Okay. Thanks for the soda. Do you want it?"

"If you don't. How's the hand?"

Puck flexes his fingers experimentally. "Been worse."

The others look up when they enter the room. Puck offers a sheepish smile.

"Hey He-Man, come sit with us." Santana calls from her usual seat next to Brittany, attempting to lighten the atmosphere.

It still feels kinda tense and the whole practice is more subdued than usual, but he's glad he stayed. He'd be more glad if they'd all stop shooting him looks like they think he's gonna pull a gun on them at any moment. Except Kurt's eyes show only concern and Artie keeps pulling stupid faces at him, trying to get him to laugh.

Mr Schuester asks him to stay behind at the end. Puck's not in the mood for his sharing and caring bullshit routine.

"Mr S, I'm fine, I swear. I'm just having a bad week, but that...thing, with the chairs? That won't happen again."

"Right. If you're sure there's nothing you want to talk about..."

Puck grins, already walking out. "I'm good."


	5. You're Vulnerable

The locker room becomes a hell. A special form of hell involving piss in his locker, and hiding his clothes, and all manner of homosexual slurs and insults and curse words. The guys won't talk to him except to call him names, and they won't look at him other than when they're spitting in his face.

Finn manages to keep them from violence, but it's hostile and Puck knows it won't last. Finn can't stop them forever. He keeps giving Puck guilty looks, which Puck doesn't get because he knows there's nothing Finn can do and he doesn't expect him to either. It'd be suicide to turn against the whole fucking team to make a stand on Puck's behalf.

"Maybe you should quit the team..." Finn suggests, awkwardly, while they're walking to glee together.

"Then they'd fucking win."

"Is it really worth all this? They might ease up on you if you weren't on the team anymore..."

Finn's really trying to be his friend again, so Puck doesn't let himself lose his temper, but Finn really doesn't fucking get it. Sure, partly this is a stubborn pride thing that won't let Puck back down, but partly it's not about him. He thinks about Chad Danforth, the openly gay guy on the Wildcats, and his skinny blonde mascot boyfriend. If Puck, big tough guy that he is, can't win against these assholes, what hope is there for any of them? He knows that there will always be people waiting to tear him down, but he's not gonna quit just to make things fucking _easier_.

He's started talking to Kurt a lot. About the bullying, to start with, and how fucking sorry he is for every dumpster dive and slushie and everything else he's done or helped to do over the years. Kurt shrugs it off as if it's nothing. Kurt Hummel amazes him. He goes through so much shit and he's still fucking _fierce_.

Puck doesn't tell him outright how bad things are getting with the team, though they both know he has some idea. Kurt thinks he should consider quitting too. Puck says he'll think about it. They both hear it as _No_.

Finn skips practice without letting Puck know. If Puck had known, he wouldn't have gone either, or at least he would have been prepared and getting jumped in the locker room wouldn't have been such a shock. He gives as good as he gets, but he's only one guy and the numbers are against him.

When they're done beating the shit out of him, they jog out to the basketball court, like that was some sort of fucking warm-up. Puck waits until he can mostly see straight before he staggers out to the parking lot. There's no way he can drive like this. He's not stupid enough to try. He lets himself into his car and slumps in the passenger seat, rummaging through his pockets until he finds his phone. It's harder than it should be to read his contacts list. He squints, and hazards a guess.

"Hello?" Kurt picks up after only two rings. He hit the right number. "Puck?"

"Can you come get me? I can't drive." He can hear himself. He sounds bad. He thinks he might be slurring. His bottom lip is already swollen. His whole face hurts.

"Um...sure, okay. Where are you?"

"School parking lot."

Kurt says something to his dad and then a car engine starts. "Did something happen?"

Puck snorts. "Nothing major."

"Bad enough that you can't drive yourself home."

"Yeah, I guess..." He can picture Kurt rolling his eyes.

"That's major, Puck. What happened?"

"Finn wasn't there. Fuckers jumped me."

Kurt sucks in a breath through his teeth. "Is anything broken?"

Puck attempts a mental rundown of his body, cataloguing his injuries. "Nah. No big deal."

"Of course not. Other than rendering you incapable of driving..." Despite the usual snarking, Kurt sounds kinda freaked.

"I could've. Won't bother calling next time. Crash the fucking car instead and avoid you hassling me."

"No! No, I'm glad you called. I'm sorry, I'll – wait, _next_ time?"

Puck hangs up instead of sitting through more of Hummel's bitching. He shuts his eyes, leans back in his seat, dozes until Kurt's dad's car pulls up next to his and both Hummels get out to meet him. Puck has to lean heavily on Burt to make it the short distance between cars. Kurt is unusually quiet.

"If you're gonna barf, do it now," Burt tells him seriously.

Puck spits blood and swills his mouth out with water to get rid of the unpleasant coppery tang.

Burt's concern amps up at the blood. "Where's that coming from?"

"Split lip," Puck mumbles.

"They kick you? Your stomach hurt?"

"No more than anything else."

Burt puts a hand under his chin to tilt his head up and force him to make eye contact. "Do we need to go to hospital? Think carefully. Do we need to get you to hospital?"

"Nah. I'm all right."

Burt considers him for a moment longer, then nods, satisfied. "All right. You better not die in my house, Puckerman."

"I make no promises."


	6. hope is a liar, a cheat and a tease

Burt helps him to the couch where they cover him in icepacks, ignoring his bitching, and dose him up on pain killers. They let him nap, but they wake him up every now and then to check they still can.

Kurt's sitting on the couch with him, listlessly flicking through channels on the TV, when Finn calls. Puck can feel the guilt even through the phone, hear it in the awkward pauses and the stuttering apology. He's heard about what happened from Kurt; Puck pretended to be asleep through that phone call.

"I fucked your girlfriend and lied about it," Puck cheerfully reminds him.

Kurt drops the remote and gapes at him. "Puck!"

"Too much? It's true though. And he's being all guilty at me. I'm a big boy. I know what I'm doing."

"That's debatable," Kurt says dryly, recovering from his surprise and returning his attention to channel surfing.

Finn sighs. "So you still won't quit the team?"

"No. I still won't quit."

"Are you sure?"

Puck rolls his eyes – well, his eye. The other one's half closed from bruising. "Yes, I'm sure. Finn, trust me. I can handle this."

"You shouldn't have to."

Puck doesn't have anything to say to that. He lies and tells Finn his battery's dying so he can hang up.

Kurt gives him a searching look, but doesn't say anything. He offers Puck the remote control. It feels like a bribe.

"It's not Finn's fault," Puck confesses, eventually. "He thinks it's some sorta loyalty thing, that they're punishing me for being shitty to him. Like they care that I broke the bro code. And it sucks, because he's being... I fucked up, when I...with Quinn, and he's just... It's like it never happened. I did a fucking stupid, horrible thing and he's still..."

"Finn's still your friend. He still cares about you. And you don't feel like you deserve that."

Puck nods, feeling awkward.

"Is it Finn in particular, or do you really not believe you're worth anything at all?" He's still giving him that penetrating look, and his voice has an indignant edge.

"Kurt..."

Kurt holds his head up, proud and stubborn. "I care about you, Noah Puckerman."

Puck stares at him, uncomprehending. "But I was a dick to you, for years. I threw you in the dumpster. I pelted you with piss balloons. I nailed your lawn furniture to the fricking roof."

"Are you sorry?"

"Yes. You know I am."

"And are you going to do it again? Any of it, to anyone?"

Thinking about it makes Puck feel sick. "No. Fuck... No."

Kurt shifts and tucks his legs up under him. He looks smaller, curled in on himself. He always looks small to Puck now. He doesn't know how he never saw it before, how vulnerable he is. "I forgave you. We don't need to dwell on that anymore. You've changed. You're becoming a different person. I hope eventually you'll be able to see that for yourself."


End file.
